Текст книги "The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks "

Автор книги: Josh lanyon

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 12 страниц)

And with an uneasy flash, Perry realized he was happy. Happy because Nick was with him. It wiped the smile off his own face. In a week or two Nick would be gone – they would probably never see each other again. Getting attached to Nick would be even stupider than getting attached to Marcel had been.

It was dark when they walked out of the theater.

Perry was thinking how much he didn’t want to head back to the Alston mansion, when Nick said casually, “Let’s grab a beer.”

They crossed the street to a disreputable-looking bar with a neon sign offering a half-tilted cocktail glass. Inside the bar was dark and smoky – although no one had legally smoked there for several years – and a jukebox was playing the Young Dubliners. A couple of hard young men in flannel shirts hunched over the bar talking to the bartender.

It was the kind of place Perry would not have dreamed of setting foot in on his own, but with Nick beside him, it held all the fascination of a quick trip to a foreign land.

Nick nodded toward a table, and Perry sat down while Nick went to the bar and ordered two beers. Perry watched Nick chatting and smiling with the men at the bar – he was obviously no stranger to the place.

“You want anything to eat?” Nick asked, setting the beer in front of Perry.

“They have food here?” Perry said, surprised.

Nick nodded.

Perry hesitated. “Are you having something?”

Nick read the hesitation correctly. And ordinarily he would have figured it was the kid’s problem he didn’t know how to budget, but…he was feeling flush. He had the Los Angeles job, and Roscoe had even offered an advance on his first paycheck. And…he liked to see Foster eat. He said brusquely, “Yeah. Why don’t we get the potato skins? We can share. My treat.”

He was rewarded with that shy smile.

“I guess it was kind of a waste of a day,” Perry said later as they ate potato skins stuffed with golden cheddar cheese and bacon and sour cream. Nick had ordered a couple more beers by then, and under the influence of alcohol the kid had relaxed and grown chatty and confidential.

Nick shrugged.

“Do you think the sheriff will let us know what they learn?”

“You’re assuming they’ll learn anything,” Nick said grimly, and Perry laughed. He was laughing a lot. Nick decided he didn’t mind.

A new song came on the jukebox. A slow, romantic ballad, and Perry said suddenly, “Why didn’t your marriage work out?”

Nick’s face closed.

“Sorry,” Perry said quickly. “I just…”

Nick said abruptly, “It didn’t work out for the same reason a lot of marriages don’t work out. By the end of it, we were completely different people than when we started. We didn’t have anything in common.”

Perry nodded. “Did you have anything in common when you started?”

It seemed an obvious question, but Nick stared at him. Then he gave a funny laugh. “Yeah, we came from the same town. I don’t think it occurred to me we might need more. My parents were together for fifty-five years – till my old man died.”

“My parents are still together,” Perry offered.

“You an only kid?” Nick asked.

Perry nodded, and Nick nodded too as though this confirmed his thoughts.

They ate for a time in silence. Then Nick said, “I’ve been thinking about this séance.”

Perry’s mouth twisted, but he said, “I bet I know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh, you do?”

“You’re going to say it would be useful to watch everyone who takes part in it, and that I should agree to attend.”

“I do think it would be useful, yeah,” Nick said. “I’m wondering if there’s something else behind it – something besides Center being a wacko, I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t drag you along with me.”

Perry smiled, seemingly unperturbed at the idea of being dragged along by Nick. He was staring with those long-lashed eyes as though Nick was the most fascinating person on earth. Flirting, Nick thought amusedly. Maybe Perry didn’t realize it himself.

He said, “You mean you think someone is going to try and ask Shane Moran what he did with the Alston sapphires?”

Nick shrugged. “Nothing would surprise me in that place. I wonder who exactly suggested that séance?”

Perry said slowly, “I got the feeling Jane did. I think she really likes Center. She might be pushing the idea of a séance as a way to get close to him. I never noticed her having any interest in ghosts and the supernatural before this.”

“I suppose there’s no doubt about how Watson died?” Nick asked.

Perry shook his head. “He had a heart attack in the village. It sounds pretty straightforward to me.”

“It sounds like the fastest case of cause and effect on record,” Nick remarked – which seemed a little harsh, given his own dietary habits. Perry covered a smile with his beer mug.

They finished their meal companionably, and Nick waved good night to the guys at the bar.

The drinks hit Perry going out to the car. He stumbled a little and said, “Man, I’m tired. I feel like I haven’t slept in a week.”

Nick took him by the arm and steered him to the pickup. “I think you’ll sleep tonight.”

Perry blinked up at and said seriously, “Couldn’t we just stay in town tonight? Get a hotel room?”

“Are you making a move on me?” Nick asked amused.

Perry chuckled. “Want to experiment?” He smiled up at Nick trustingly.

Against his will, Nick laughed. “Not tonight, Josephine. We’ve got a séance to go to, remember?”

Perry made a face, though it was unclear whether at being turned down or at the recollection they were due to commune with the Great Beyond.

Nick unlocked the passenger door and went around to the driver’s side. He started the engine.

Pulling out of the parking lot, he glanced Perry’s way. He was so silent Nick thought he might have fallen asleep, but he was sitting up straight, staring expressionlessly out the window.

“You okay?”

He nodded.

“Listen,” Nick said. “Nothing is going to happen to you while I’m around, so relax.”

Perry said calmly, “I know. I’m just thinking about after you’re gone.”

Chapter Ten

The water was high and murky as they crossed the bridge. The lights of the Alston House shone with illusory warmth through the trees. The rains of the last couple of days had left the trees skeletal and stark white in the headlights of Nick’s truck. Piles of tattered leaves scattered the wet earth.

They parked and walked around to the front. They were walking side by side, and perhaps Nick thought that Perry was still a little unsteady – he rested his hand lightly on the small of Perry’s back.

“No police cars,” Perry pointed out, taking pains not to show that he noticed Nick’s hand resting above his ass.

Sure enough the yard was clear of any marked cars. Within, the house lights blazed on the lower level. More lights than Perry could ever remember seeing on at any one time in the old mansion.

Nick said, “Looks like they’re planning a party.”

Perry laughed nervously as he pushed open the front door.

The chandelier rocked musically in the winter’s blast. Jane, wearing a black caftan, came to greet them. “There you are! We thought you’d never get here.” She began to usher them toward the little-used “rec room.”

Perry said, “Jeez, Janie, can we have a minute to take our jackets off?”

“You can take your jackets off in there. Everyone’s been waiting.”

“Who’s everyone?” Nick inquired. He had removed his hand from Perry’s back as they climbed the front steps, but he still stood close enough that their shoulders brushed. Perry couldn’t decide if it was an accident or if Nick thought he needed reassurance.

“Everyone,” Jane answered. Adding honestly, “I mean, what else is there to do on a night like this?”

“What happened to the cops?”

She made a face. “There’s a big accident near the border. I guess they needed everyone there. It’s not like there’s much happening here.”

“Just murder,” said Perry.

Astonishingly, Jane said, “Tiny could have been shot by hunters. He could have dragged himself here.”

“You’re not serious,” Perry said.

She shrugged, not meeting his eyes.

The lights had been turned down low as they walked into the room that served as the residence’s meeting and recreation room – once the formal drawing room. There were bookshelves filled with used paperbacks, an old television set that never seemed to work, a heavy oval dining table that was supposed to be used for “games.” Two large candelabra sat in the center of the table, casting uncertain light across the bleached wallpaper.

There were three empty chairs at the table. Mr. Teagle, Miss Dembecki, and Mrs. MacQueen were all in attendance. David Center sat at the table head, face turned attentively toward the door.

As Jane escorted Nick and Perry into the room, Center announced, “The spirits are eager to make contact tonight.”

“Wonderful! You sit next to me, Perry,” Jane instructed.

Perry’s jaw got that hard look that sat so oddly with his Christopher Robin face. Nick said calmly, “Perry’s good next to me.”

Perry shot him a grateful look.

“Well!” Jane said, her smile a little forced as she looked from one to the other.

Perry and Nick took the two chairs at the table. There was an awkward silence.

Mr. Teagle said, “How’s that river looking, son?”

“I don’t think it will flood,” Perry said. Mrs. Mac sat directly across from him. She was staring at him. He offered a polite smile. She licked her lips and looked away, reminding him forcibly of one of her unpleasant little dogs.

“If everyone would join hands,” David Center instructed. “Left hand palm up to receive. Right hand palm down to transmit.”

Calling the Twilight Zone.

Perry clasped hands with Miss Dembecki to his left and Nick to his right. Miss Dembecki’s little hand was ice cold – as cold as his own, Perry thought. Nick’s hand was warm. He squeezed Perry’s with hard, quick reassurance, and as much as Perry did not want to be there, he felt a flare of happiness.

Center said, “For those of you who have not previously attended a séance, I should explain one or two things. There is nothing frightening or mysterious about communing with the dead. Spirits are around us all the time. They are part of the natural world, and if we open our hearts and minds, they are often willing to communicate.”

Belatedly, Perry noticed that Rudy Stein was not at the table. It was hard to picture Stein taking part in a séance, but then, it was hard to picture himself taking part.

He sighed, and out of the corner of his eye saw Nick’s mouth twitch.

Center said, “And this is all a séance amounts to: Communication between the physical world and the spirit world. This communication is moderated by one who is known as a medium. Tonight I will act as the medium as we attempt to call upon the spirits who still linger in this house.”

Jane was smiling – beaming – at Center. He continued to talk seriously about the many séances he had conducted and how they all were ordinary, run-of-the-mill, and perfectly harmless. All in a day’s work. If your day job was on the astral plane.

Perry said, “How are we going to contact the spirit of the man in my bathtub, when we don’t even know his name?”

“Perry! Don’t interrupt,” Jane said.

Nick said, “Maybe we can just describe what he was last seen wearing.” His eyes slanted to meet Perry’s.

Perry relaxed, biting his lip.

“I understand nervousness can result in levity,” Center said, “but the spirits don’t like to be mocked. Now if I can ask everyone to remain silent while opening your hearts and minds…”

No one said anything. Perry closed his eyes. He could feel Miss Dembecki breathing quickly beside him. Her hand was still cold, and she was shaking very slightly. Granted, it was cold in the room. The house was always like an icebox. On the other hand – literally – he could feel the warmth and solid presence of Nick Reno.

He opened his eyes. Nick glanced at him. Grimaced. Everyone else at the table had their eyes closed, faces screwed up in concentration. Perry bit his lip against inappropriate laughter. But Center was right, he was nervous.

“Perry,” Center said suddenly. Perry started. “Try to visualize the man you saw. Try to remember what his face looked like.”

Perry closed his eyes and then opened them. He’d be just as happy not remembering that gray-green face, the white slits of eyes beneath half-closed lids… Impossible to think what the man would have looked like in life. It was much easier to remember the weave of that ugly plaid coat and those garish yellow socks.

It was very quiet in the room.

Perry’s mind began to wander. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t believe in ghosts, and even if there was such a thing as a ghost, he sure as heck didn’t want to attract its attention.

“Are you there?” Center asked softly, and for a moment Perry thought Center was talking to him. “Are you there? Do you wish to speak to someone here?”

No one said anything, but the silence took on a living, tense quality.

“I feel a presence,” Center said all at once.

Perry studied the circle of faces. Mr. Teagle looked very pale, his face perspiring in the candlelight. Jane’s face was taut with concentration. Mrs. Mac’s eyes opened. She stared at Perry without expression, then closed her eyes like the Sphinx settling down for the night.

Center said in that low, hypnotic voice, “Why have you come here? What is it you wish to tell us? Who is it you wish to speak to?”

And then as though in answer to himself, Center said in a high, thin, eerily feminine voice, “Shane! Where are you? Why –”

“There’s someone in the mirror,” Miss Dembecki cried in terror. Eyes flew open, heads jerked, everyone turned to the mirror hanging over the fireplace.

For an instant, deceived by the shadows thrown by the candlelight, Perry thought that he too saw the reflection of someone framed in the mirror. The figure was indistinct, mutable…

The frozen hand clutching his suddenly relaxed, and Miss Dembecki slid to the floor in a dead faint.

* * * * *

“Shane! Come back, Shane!” Nick mocked in falsetto.

Perry managed a weak grin and took the mug of cocoa Nick offered.

They were back in Nick’s apartment following the abrupt and dramatic end of the séance. Miss Dembecki had come around from her faint within a few seconds, but she had followed that with a bout of hysterical crying. It had been left to Jane and Mrs. Mac to calm her down and put her to bed.

“It did kind of look like someone was standing in the mirror,” Perry said as Nick dropped down beside him onto the sofa.

“A woman,” Nick agreed. “I saw it too. It was the reflection of the portrait on the opposite wall.”

Perry’s jaw dropped, and then he laughed. “I’m such a tool.”

“Nah. You’re just more imaginative and open-minded than I am.”

Perry sipped his cocoa. It was piping hot. No marshmallows, but he thought he detected a hint of cinnamon and there was definitely a slug of something alcoholic. Whisky? Brandy? He said, “You have to admit it was kind of freaky the way Center changed his voice. He really did sound like a woman.”

Nick shrugged. “It’s one of the tricks of his trade, being able to throw his voice, change it.”

“You don’t think –”

“No, I don’t,” Nick answered.

Perry nodded. “I knew it would be a total waste of time.” He took another sip of cocoa.

“I don’t know,” Nick said thoughtfully. “I’m wondering what Stein was doing while we were all gathered in the drawing room with John Edward.”

“What do you think he was doing?”

Nick shook his head.

“I don’t know what any of us were doing there, really,” Perry said. “Except Janie. She’s got something going on with Center, that’s obvious.”

“Yeah, she seems pretty taken with the guy,” Nick agreed. “And Center… I wouldn’t swear to it, but I think he believes his own bullshit.”

“Miss Dembecki sure believes it,” Perry said. “She wasn’t faking. She was scared to death. That was a dead faint.”

Miss Dembecki had been rag doll, limp and white. There was no faking that.

“Yep, and that’s interesting too,” Nick said. “Especially with what you were telling me about her poking around in the gazebo. How long has she lived here?”

“Years, I think. She and Mr. Teagle and Mrs. Mac have been here the longest.”

Perry drained the rest of his cocoa, and Nick said, “You take the bed tonight, junior. You need to get some real rest.”

“You know, I’m not actually twelve years old, Nick,” Perry said.

“Hey, if you were twelve years old, I’d make you sleep on the couch,” Nick said. “So enjoy the bed tonight.”

Perry studied him with unusual gravity, then he collected his things and went to wash up. When he climbed into Nick’s bed, the sheets and pillowcase smelled like Nick. He closed his eyes and let the sound of the rain sweep him into a comfortable blankness.

* * * * *

Nick waited till he heard the soft, even sound of Perry’s breathing. Easing shut the bedroom door, he got his pistol and slipped out into the hallway.

There was no sign of anyone. The draperies puffed and flattened in the drafts, the dead plants stirring in the breeze.

Nick went quietly down the staircase; the house could have been empty.

On the second floor, he listened. Then he moved quietly. Pausing outside Center’s door, he heard only dead silence. Even odds that Center was downstairs in Jane Bridger’s apartment.

There was no light and no sound from Stein’s apartment.

The door to Watson’s room was marked with crime scene tape, but there was nothing to prevent Nick from using Perry’s keys to let himself inside.

Soundlessly, he closed the door behind him. His flashlight played over the empty apartment, spotlighting a half-empty bottle of wine on the coffee table next to an open sketchpad – piercing eyes stared out of the planes and angles of a face that looked suspiciously like his own roughed out in pencil.

He moved to the bedroom. The white beam of the flashlight caught the sexy cartoons of women in exotic dress like a spotlight. The bedclothes were tumbled, the clock on the floor beside the bed. The closet door stood wide, and there was a crooked taped outline where Tiny’s body had sprawled as it tumbled from the closet.

Stepping over the taped outline, Nick ran his hands lightly over the back of the closet.

It seemed solid enough. He didn’t dare try tapping, despite the temptation to let Center think his buddies in the spirit world were dropping in to say hi. He put his shoulder against it and shoved.

The wall didn’t give exactly, but Nick sensed a certain hollowness behind the panel.

Kneeling, he felt along the bottom, and there seemed to be a sharp ridge at the joining of wall and floor. He turned the flashlight on the seam of the wall, following the line and then feeling behind the back shelf at the top of the closet. And there it was. A small spring latch. He pressed it, and the door swung in a few inches, revealing a black mouth of the entrance to what was most definitely a passageway between the rooms.

Nick ran the flashlight over open beams and rough-hewn floors disappearing into darkness.

He felt around, found one of Watson’s shoes and stepped into the passageway, stooping long enough to wedge it to keep the doorway from closing all the way shut.

He turned the flashlight ahead, and the back passage seemed to stretch endlessly.

The doorway swung shut with a little click. Nick glanced back. The shoe kept the door from closing all the way. A square of light fell across the wall, illuminating a grimy lantern. Nick turned down the hall, and the square of light grew smaller and smaller behind him.

* * * * *

It was still not light when Perry woke. O’dark hundred, Nick would have said. The clock said five thirty.

For a few moments he lay there, blinking sleepily, trying to place himself in unfamiliar surroundings. He remembered that he was in Nick’s bed – without Nick, unfortunately.

And something had wakened him.

There it was again. Perry sat up. He wasn’t dreaming. He wasn’t imagining that faint scratching sound. Mice in the woodwork? It was only too likely. The only cat in the house was Jane’s, and according to Jane, he’d never shown interest in anything that couldn’t be opened with a can opener.

There…not exactly a gnawing sound…but…something was moving behind the wall. Something larger than a mouse. Larger than a cat. Something big…

Perry bolted from the bed and made for the living room.

In the murky light he could make out the blankets and pillow neatly folded on the end of the couch. There was no sign of Nick.

Bewildered and still half asleep, Perry tried to make sense of this. He recalled Nick going off to investigate on his own the night Perry had found the dead man in the bathtub. He began to search for his keys. They were gone.

Perry swore. What the hell was the deal with Nick anyway? Would it kill him to ask for help – or at least discuss his plans? For a practical guy, Reno wasn’t showing the best sense taking off without making sure he had some kind of backup.

That was probably because he didn’t think Perry was much use as backup, and maybe Perry wasn’t a Navy SEAL, but he knew enough to get help if Nick needed it.

And if Nick had been gone the entire night, there was a damn good chance he did need help.

He went back in the bedroom and dragged on his jeans, stepped into his sneakers, and exited Nick’s apartment, leaving the door unlocked just in case he didn’t have luck finding Nick.

When he was dressed, he went across the landing to his own tower room just in case Nick was over there, but the door to his apartment was locked – which was doubly annoying. He couldn’t get into his own rooms if he wanted to.

Perry went quietly downstairs to the second level. The smell of baking wafted from David Center’s rooms, filling the musty hall with warm blueberry fragrance.

Hearing something from the main hall, he looked over the balcony in time to see Miss Dembecki letting herself out the front door, furtive and noiseless. He considered going after her, but the need to find Nick and make sure he was okay was stronger.

He continued quietly down the hallway and studied the imposing crisscross of yellow crime scene tape across Watson’s door. Somehow he just knew Nick would not find that forbidding web as intimidating he did.

He tried the handle.

The door swung open.

Perry parted the bands of yellow tape and stepped inside. It was hard to see in the gloom – the blinds drawn against the early morning – and it smelled of the unfamiliar chemicals the crime-scene technicians had used.

“Nick?” he called softly.

There was no answer. He supposed he had not really expected one. Glancing around, he froze at the sight of his open sketchbook – and the rough draft of Nick’s face. The deputies must have been looking through his stuff. Hopefully, Nick hadn’t seen that. He’d be more uncomfortable than he already was.

Perry made his way to the bedroom and snapped on the light, confident that with the blinds drawn no one would be able to tell he was inside the apartment. The closet door stood open.

Something was not right…

At first Perry thought the clothes pole had broken, but then he saw that this was an illusion of the crooked way the shadows fell from the compartment interior. The back wall seemed to be out of alignment.

Cautiously, one eye on the taped outline of where Tiny had died, he stepped inside the closet. Yes, the back wall of the closet was in fact a door. A pretty solid door at that. He felt the edge – four inches thick and solid wood. Something was propping it open. His gaze fell on the shoe wedged between wall and door and his heart stopped.

Cheap brown leather with a hole in the sole. It was the shoe worn by the dead body in Perry’s bathtub.

His heart began to thud in tattoo of delighted thrill and alarm.

Just as he had thought – well, suggested – there was a secret passage in the house.

Perry pushed against the back panel, taking care not to dislodge the shoe propping it open. Facing what appeared to be a wall of darkness, he paused. He needed a flashlight.

He’d seen one somewhere in Watson’s apartment…

Perry ducked back out of the clothes that still smelled of Watson’s tobacco and aftershave and searched around until, on the far side of the bed, he finally located a heavy flashlight that looked like it meant business.

Steeling himself, he returned to the closet and pushed the opening wide, stooping long enough to wedge the shoe back into place. He switched on the flashlight.

Long cobwebs floated gently from open beams. Dust coated everything in gray velvet. In fact, he could see a swarm of dusty footprints leading off into the pitch black.

Great. Cold, damp, and dust. The asthma triumvirate. He pulled out his hanky and covered his mouth. He patted the inhaler in his pocket reassuringly. He was okay. He could do this.

Turning the flashlight down the long corridor, Perry began to follow the footsteps in the carpet of dust.

An occasional floorboard squeaked beneath his quiet steps. He was unhappily aware that he and Nick might not be the only people moving through the bowels of the mansion. For sure he now knew how the body of the dead man in his bathtub had been transported away. Someone was using this network of tunnels and walkways as their own private transportation system.

What if Nick had run into that someone? Surely the fact that he had been gone all night was bad news.

As Perry walked he tried to pick out landmarks in case it was difficult to find his way back; it quickly became apparent the narrow tunnels wound through the house like a rabbit warren. How old were they? It seemed that some parts of the passageway were more finished than others indicating that some of the earliest sections might have been part of the original structure while later additions might have happened during the many extensions to the farmhouse – or even at the time of the major renovations of Henry Alston. Certainly these tunnels would have been useful for Alston’s parties.

Generations of tunnels…who on the Alston Estate knew about them? Would Mrs. Mac? She had been managing the boarding house for years now. Mr. Teagle was related to the current owners of the house. But did the current owners of the house know about these passageways? Surely when the last renovations had been done – when the reapportioning of rooms for apartments had occurred, the builders would have noticed and mentioned these interior walkways and tunnels.

But if Mr. Teagle and Mrs. Mac knew about these passageways, they had certainly played dumb about them.

Abruptly Perry came to a dead end.

He turned the flashlight on the rough paneling. There it was. A small latch at the top of the door. He pressed it. The door swung backward nearly hitting him. He had a glimpse of a row of silk shirts and tweed jackets in military formation. David Center’s closet.

He had somehow managed to travel in a circle. Maybe this explained what Nick had been doing all night.

Perry pressed the latch, closing the door quickly again and started back the other way.

This time he paid closer attention to the direction he was moving, taking note as he passed the band of light that came from Watson’s bedroom, crossing through it and continuing to walk for maybe five minutes until he came to a wooden staircase. The passage had narrowed noticeably so that there was just room enough for the stairs leading sharply down into nothingness.

He went down them carefully, counting – fifty steps and then there was a bend and another narrow tunnel – a flat stretch with a stone floor which he traveled quickly – and then more steps leading to another open-beamed walkway like the one on the second floor.

It was much colder down here. He had the impression that he might be outside – underground, perhaps. If he was still inside the house, he had no idea where he was, although he figured he could still find his way back to the house –

From a few yards ahead came the scrape of footsteps. He realized someone was coming toward him. His heart lifted, thinking it was Nick, but then some instinct held him still. He turned out his flashlight and listened.

Would Nick be walking so quickly and confidently?

The footsteps stopped, and Perry heard something…knocking. No…tapping. The person ahead of him was testing the panels, seeking something. Another doorway? A hiding place?

Whatever it was, it gave Perry an opportunity to retreat. Whoever was using these tunnels had probably killed two people already to protect his secret.

As silently as he could, he felt his way, mentally retracing his steps. At this juncture he had made a right…so left now…

He crept along until the sound of tapping died away behind him. Coming to the stairs, he inched quietly up, one hand out to guide himself, one hand gripping the flashlight to use as a possible weapon if he had to.

Unexpectedly reaching the top of the steps, his groping hand touched cloth and then skin. Bright light blazed into his eyes, blinding him momentarily. He put an instinctive hand up, only to be grabbed and thrown back down the stairs.

But the staircase was so narrow that his sprawl of legs and arms worked to stop his headlong crash. Hearing the heavy thud of footsteps following his descent, Perry scrabbled over and half crawled, half fell the rest of the way down the stairs. Reaching the bottom, he jumped up and ran headlong down the passageway only to slam into another compact living form.

Perry cried out.

Hands fastened on his shoulders. “Perry! It’s me.”

Nick’s voice sliced through the panic, and Perry stopped struggling. It was Nick. Like the answer to a prayer. It was warmth and strength and safety and everything he’d ever wanted in human form.

Perry’s arms locked around the older man. “Nick.”

“What’s the matter with you?”

Something was the matter, that was for damn sure. Perry babbled a long string of muffled words into Nick’s shoulder.

“What? What the hell are you doing down here?” After a hesitation, Nick folded his arms around Perry. “Shh.” His lips brushed Perry’s ear. It was a small, delicately shaped ear. Reminding Nick of…what? Shells? Scroll work? And it was cold. The kid was shaking like a leaf – and why the hell was he once again not wearing a jacket?

“He tried to kill me,” Perry said into his neck.

Nick stilled. “Who?”

“I didn’t see. I couldn’t tell. He shone his flashlight in my face and then shoved me down the stairs.”